


They Called Him   “Red”

by Fizz (marvels_ninja)



Series: He and Them [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (the delanceys are shitty), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Period-Typical Racism, Racism, Racist Language, Very Minor Character Death, blood mention, cursing, physical fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvels_ninja/pseuds/Fizz
Summary: Albert really wished Les wasn’t so inquisitive sometimes, but when the kid picks up on a specific...connection, Al has no choice but to tell him the whole story behind it.





	They Called Him   “Red”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic of what I’m calling the He and Them series, which’ll be a few fics based around a headcanon that Albert and the Delanceys used to be childhood friends, which was created by @cream—rises on tumblr and myself a while ago. This is on my tumblr as well. It may seem a little far-fetched at first, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!  
> *I would also like to note that I use some words in here that are offensive to biracial people, and I want to clarify that I’m biracial. I know what I’m writing.

“Getcha papes and move your ass, Red,” Oscar growled, holding out Albert’s usual stack of fifty.

Al only gave a half hearted smirk in return. “Thanks, Osky.” He swatted at the slightly older boy’s tie, which ended up smacking Oscar in the face. A few of the newsies behind Albert in line laughed, but he could feel both of the brothers’ glares burning into his back.

Albert was about to sit and read the main story when someone tapped him on his back. He turned and smiled when he saw who it was.

“Heya, Shortstop. What is it?” Albert lowered himself to Les’s height. The young boy had a hesitant expression on his face, his hands twisting a paper.

“Just started noticin’ somethin’.” Les shrugged, but took his gaze off the ground. “Why do the Delanceys call ya Red, like they knows ya or somethin’?”

Albert’s smile faltered. He bit his lip, unsure of how to answer the boy without freaking him out a little. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“‘Cause they  _ do _ know ‘im!” Mush was suddenly behind him, snickering and sporting a smug smile. Albert took the twisted paper out of Les’s hand and whacked Mush in the face with it, Albert’s own face flushing with embarrassment.

“Shut it, lemme tell him—“

“Ya actually know them?! Like,  _ know _ ‘em?” Les asked, eyes wide with fear. Albert turned fully to Mush and whacked him several more times.

“Asshole,” he hissed to him. Mush only shrugged and waved him off, so Albert knelt back to Les. “Look, kid, I don’t know ‘em. Not anymore, I mean. My fam’ly an’ theirs went way back. They was my first friends in Lower Manhattan…”

•••

Albert must have been eight when his family moved away from Brooklyn to Manhattan. His father had just been fired from his job, something about how they “didn’t need people like him”—Albert didn’t remember too well. All he knew is that he and his brothers were switching schools and leaving all his old friends behind.

He remembered he was quite small for his age then, and the only redhead in his class. The other kids teased him every so often, but one day when everyone was outside playing, a few boys went a little farther. They pushed him down, called him strange and different and  _ wrong _ , just because his hair wasn’t brown or blond. He remembered crying as they hit him, but then it stopped. He heard scuffling, then opened his eyes. Two new boys, a good amount bigger than him, were now standing over him. Albert scrambled to pick himself up.

“Leave me alone, or I’ll smack ya, I swear!” He yelled at them, doing his best to glare with tear-stained cheeks. The two boys glanced at each other, then nodded.

“We ain’t gonna hit ya, Red. We swear it,” the shorter one said. “I’m Oscar, an’ this is my brother Morris.”

The taller brother, Morris, crossed his arms. “Our ma got red hair like yours. Screw those kids.” Albert had nodded vigorously when he’d said that, and the two brothers had smiled. 

The three of them had been nearly inseparable after that, even if the brothers were two years older than Albert. Anytime a child in Albert’s class would tease him, the three of them would nearly pounce on the kid, pushing him around and hitting him till he cried, till he said he would stop teasing Albert. Sometimes a boy in the brothers’ class would say Morris’s nose was too big, or Oscar’s eyes too wide, and Albert would help “defend their honor” too, as they called it. Their way of looking out for each other.

“Any kid that acts, or even  _ looks _ at ya some way you don’t like, smack ‘em. They’ll stop. They always do,” Oscar had once said.

Even to this day, Albert knew it was true. It still made him shiver some days.

What Albert hadn’t known was that while he had made friends with the brothers, his father was becoming fast friends with the Delanceys’ father. At the time, they had been coworkers, until Mr. Delancey had switched jobs later on. 

Another thing Albert hadn’t known then was that Mrs. Delancey and Mr. Delancey didn’t get along. They lived in the same apartment, but never talked too much to each other. He hadn’t known that they’d often argue about Mr. Delancey’s colleagues, more specifically what they looked like and where they’d came from.

One day, Albert came home from school and Mr. Delancey was in his apartment, talking with his own father. Something about other places, before both men had went quiet. And both looked at Al. His father said something to Mr. Delancey about how Albert was “lucky he looked like his mother.” Only now Albert knew what he had meant. 

Then, four years later, his mother died. He was only twelve at the time.

A man had grabbed Aileen DaSilva’s purse as she was coming home from the factory, and she had chased after him, hitting him, trying to get it back. The man had stabbed her and ran away, still clutching the purse.

“You had to get your fire from somewhere, Al,” his father had said at her funeral.

The Delanceys had come to the funeral, since the family was more or less friends with Al’s.

Albert couldn’t help but remember that day. Of course, it was his mother’s funeral, and a big piece of him had died that day as her body was lowered into the earth forever. His head had pounded the entire day from how many tears he had shed.

That was also the day he’d learned an ugly truth about the world he was living in.

“Hey, Red, who the hell’s that? How’d they get in here, anyway?” Oscar was pointing at someone. “Whoever it is, my ma ain’t happy with ‘em for trespassin’, or whatever.”

Albert followed Oscar’s gaze, finding Mrs. Delancey’s red hair.

The man she was talking to—or rather, scoffing offendedly at—was his own father.

“What a creep, walkin’ into your mother’s funeral. Sure as hell don’t belong here, let alone the country,” Morris commented, his brother snickering.

Looking back at that day, Albert knew he should have soaked them right then and there. He knew they would’ve been shocked, never would have seen it coming—would have been easy.

But he had stayed silent, shocked at his two best friends’ words about his own father. Soon enough, Mrs. Delancey had stalked over, saying how they needed to leave, before casting Albert a disgusted glance and dragging her sons out of the cemetery.

Albert came back to school two days later. The brothers didn’t visit him at all during those two days.

He walked with one of his own brothers to school when he came back. His father had shook his head when asked to, but didn’t say a word on it. He hadn’t really been the same since Albert’s mother’s death. He was working more hours than ever, too, since his mother wasn’t around anymore to help pay bills with her own job.

Albert never made it to class that day.

He’d waved goodbye to his brother as he headed to the other school, since he was a few years older than Albert. As soon as Al walked through the gate of the school grounds, he was dragged back out by grips on both of his arms and pinned against an alley wall.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Red?” Oscar now spat the nickname, while Morris held Albert’s wrists over his head. He was trapped. “Your pops’s a border hopper?”

Albert did his best not to roll his eyes, instead choosing to glare. “Wrong slur, Osky—my dad ain’t a Mexican.”

“Then what even  _ are _ ya?”

Albert felt sick when he phrased it that way. “I’m half Brazilian.”

“That even a real place?” Oscar asked, expression screwed up into a grimace. 

“Same thing, Oscar. It’s still disgustin’—ain’t even legal in some states,” Morris scoffed.

“Shouldn’t be legal _any_ where,” Oscar muttered darkly, making Albert’s stomach twist in fear.

“I mean,” Morris stifled a laugh, “what the hell was wrong wit’ your momma to wanna have kids with—with—“ the boy broke into snickers, and Oscar joined in soon enough, both of them cackling at Albert’s mere existence.

That was it. 

Something in Albert permanently snapped that day.

His whole family had moved from Brooklyn because his father was fired for how he looked, and now here Albert was in a supposed better place, and he was still getting this shit? This absolute sick-to-his-stomach  _ shit? _

While the boys were laughing, Albert ripped himself from Morris’s hold, sending a right hook right into the boy’s cheek. He was still standing, so he gave him another, and another, until he was down. Albert was breathing heavily with fury when Oscar finally attacked him with a yell, shoving Al from behind so he hit into the opposite wall. Oscar flipped him back so he was facing him. 

“We trusted you, _half-breed_ ,” Oscar hissed the slur, a venomous snake, no longer the best friend Albert thought he knew. He slammed a strong punch to Albert’s eye, kneed him in the ribs a few times, shoved his head into the brick behind him. Oscar finally pushed Albert to the ground, then helped his brother up off of it. Morris sent a few hard kicks to Albert’s stomach, and Albert coughed, curling further in on himself.

“I trusted  _ you _ ,” Albert managed, his voice wobbly.

The two brothers stared down at Albert from above, Morris wiping the blood from his cheek.

They looked almost disappointed, like  _ he’d  _ done something wrong, even when Albert knew it was them who had done the evil.

Then Oscar spat on him. “What a damn waste, Red.” With that, they stalked out of the alley.

 

Albert still remembered the scream of anguish he had let out that day once the Delanceys had gotten far enough away.

 

About an hour later, he had stumbled out of the alley, looking to get home and not looking where he was going.

He crashed into a kid who looked about his age, accidentally sending him sprawling. The other boy’s bag had lost its contents, though it was only newspapers, and he was scrambling to pick them up and dust them off. Albert was frozen, watching as the kid didn’t even look up at him.

“Hey, I’m sorry for that,” Albert mumbled, messily squatting down down next to the boy and helping him pick up the rolled up papers. “Didn’t mean to scatter your newspapes.”

“Least you actually feel bad about it,” the boy scoffed with a small smirk. His blue eyes met Albert’s brown ones, and the kid’s face dropped. “Holy shit, pal, who did  _ that _ to ya?” His eyes scanned Albert’s face, the papers forgotten for the moment.

Albert only shrugged, hand hovering over his eye. “Some kids I go to school with.”

The boy scooped the last paper into his bag and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, fiddling with it. “Well, you sure ain’t goin’ to school lookin’ like that.” The boy seemed to think for a moment. “How’s about I take ya back to the lodge—s’where I live—for some ice, then you can...I dunno, do you got folks?” Albert more or less nodded to the question. “Then I’ll walk ya back after ya get cleaned up. Sound good?”

Albert had been at a loss for words. This random kid—a newsie, it appeared—that he’d knocked over was practically taking him in. “Jesus, yeah,” Albert smiled. “Thanks.”

“Nothin’ big. I’m Racetrack.” The boy spit in his hand and held it out for a shake. Albert cracked his first grin in days at the gesture, spitting in his own palm and giving Racetrack a solid shake.

“Albert.”

“How good did you soak them kids back?” 

Albert shrugged. “Split a guy’s cheek.”

Racetrack’s eyes lit up. “Damn, we might havta keep ya if you can soak that good!”

The day after, Albert had walked to the lodgehouse instead of school that morning with some change in his pocket.

•••

“So, I guess,” Albert concluded, glancing at Les, “I kinda wouldn’t be a newsie if the Delanceys hadn’t been actual shit ta me, so it’s really their loss.”

“Totally is!” Les crossed his arms and pouted. “Shouldn’t treat ya like that ‘cause of who ya are.”

“Jesus,” Albert said, exasperated. “A goddamn ten year old can understand it and theys still can’t.”

“Cause it ain’t hard to understand, that’s why! They’s dumb.”

Albert grinned, lifting Les’s hat so he could ruffle the boy’s hair. “Exactly right, kiddo.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the read, squad :)


End file.
